The Unlikely Victor
by Ahmerst
Summary: America and England spend New Year's eve together, and America declares that he will steal England's first kiss of the year. Just something light and fluffy I wrote several months ago.


"I'm going to steal your first kiss."

England looked over his shoulder in the direction of where the words had come from. He saw no one but America, who was lazily stretched across the couch, grinning a sly little grin.

"It's not yours to take," England replied stiffly as he returned his attentions back to a half dead poinsettia, its once full petals now a withered mess.

"You know I don't mean the first kiss you'll ever have!" America chided playfully. "I mean your first kiss of the New Year. There's no way I could steal your first kiss, since you can't exactly take back all the kisses you've already given."

"Sometimes, I wish I could."

America made no cheery remark, no chipper comeback to throw England off kilter, and when several minutes of stagnating silence had passed, England could not help but turn to America again. The young man was no longer taking up the couch in its entirety, but instead sitting upright, his hands nervously clasping and unclasping. His eyes were downcast and had attained the look of a man who felt he had done something wrong, though he knew not the exact circumstances.

"I-" England shook his head in frustration. "I didn't really mean that, America. I'm merely tired. Very, very tired." He sighed.

His excuse was not untrue. America had insisted that England visit him in the States to celebrate the coming of the New Year, and would not take any variation of no for an answer. While England didn't have many qualms with visiting the States, at his age he was unused the being up so late.

It would not be of great annoyance if he had only to stay up until midnight in, say, New York, where the difference in hours was not so great as to be unbearable, but due to his aversion to cold, America had decided he would much rather be spending the last few weeks of the year in California, forcing England to be up until what seemed like breakfast time simply to hoot about entering a new year.

Stifling a yawn, England took a seat next to America and swung his heels onto the coffee table, silently resolving to have better manners in the New Year. He could sense America turning his head to look at him, still seeking some kind of reassurance that it wasn't his fault England was in a sour mood.

England slung an arm over the back of the sofa, skirting America's shoulders as he did. Feeling slightly more brazen from his lack of sleep, and therefore lack of tact, he began to mindlessly pluck at the fabric of America's shirt.

"Remind me why I don't go to sleep right now, will you?"

America tilted his head back until it rested along England's forearm. "Because I'll take pictures of you while you sleep."

"A compelling argument if ever there was one."

The two nations sat in the comfortable silence the lull in vocal conversation had left them with. The television set parallel to them flashed bright images of packed city squares and repeated footage of New Year celebrations that had already come and gone in other parts of the world, parts where England wanted to be, if only so he could be curled up fast asleep in bed.

Their only clue as to the earlier events was by reading the white subtitles that scrawled along at the bottom of the screen, which never seemed to match up to the commentators' mouths. England would have preferred the sound on, though at a low level, but America had insisted on leaving it muted, claiming he wanted to hear the lively interactions of the neighborhood as people milled about in anticipation. To England, it sounded more like they were jumping through hoops of fire and hollering for protection from some unknown entity, but he was too tired to argue.

"Want to be my best friend?" America asked, his not-so-subtle way of letting England know he wanted something.

"I suppose."

"Would you please make me a cup of coffee?" America lolled his head to England's shoulder for a moment.

"I don't see why not." He waited for America to move his head before standing. "May as well make myself some tea while I'm at it."

"Thank you, England!" America chirped before glancing back at the television. "Only fifteen minutes to go."

Making his way into the kitchen, England began to root about the cabinets. While the coffee was easy enough to find, it took him a few minutes to find the tea, it having been stashed away behind a mess of spices he doubted America had ever even noticed were there.

He looked the box of tea over. It appeared to have some kind of a bear on it, one fully dressed for bed, complete with a night cap. Squinting, he brought the box closer to his face. It was wearing glasses. And reading a book. As a rule, England did not use tea bags contained in boxes with reading bears on them.

After returning the tea back to the murky dregs of the cabinet, England straightened up and looked at the coffee machine. He started as he noticed the clock on the machine claimed that it would only be two more minutes until midnight, and abandoned his attempt to make coffee before he had even started, quickly heading back to the living room to count the seconds down with America.

As he quickly scurried into the living room to check the time, he saw that he still had a handful of minutes to go. He figured America had set his coffee machine a bit quicker than the other clocks for one reason or another, and shrugged it off.

"Do you mind if I wait until after midnight to make coffee?" England didn't trust himself not to miss the excitement.

America did not answer.

"It'll only be a few minutes, you can wait that long, can't you?"

Still nothing.

England pulled his gaze from the television to look back at America. The young man's eyes were closed, and his shoulders sagged heavily. His chest rose and fell in a slow but steady pace, each breath sounding like a soft sigh.

"Are you asleep?" England was incredulous.

America did not stir.

Unsure as the whether or not America was attempting to pull the wool over his eyes, England crept closer. He waved his hand back and forth in front of America's face, smiling slightly when it yielded no result. Feeling slightly more confident, he gently glossed his fingertips over the smooth skin of America's cheek.

America was most definitely down for the count.

A self assured smile spreading over his lips, England closed any open windows before returning to America, who had not moved in the least. England checked the clock again. One minute left. America's threat to take photos of England if he fell asleep were still fresh in his mind, and he knew he had to act fast for revenge.

He fished his mobile phone out of his pocket and flicked it open with a soft pop. Carefully angling the phone so that America in all his restful glory could be seen, England stilled. The young man looked so comfortable, at ease in the way that a child could fall asleep in the middle of a crowded room and look as though it were completely natural.

His heart fluttered up into his throat, and England had to shake his head to clear his thoughts. He snapped the picture and admired the small mark that showed the time. Ten seconds to midnight. While he didn't care much about the time, he rather liked the idea of lording over America with this particular photo. He felt slightly guilty having taken it, though not because he was planning to exploit it.

In all honesty, even if America performed an action worthy of having this photo passed about, England had no intention of showing anyone beyond America. The expression in the picture looked too innocent for anyone else to lay their eyes upon it, too trusting.

England bit his lip. Maybe America shouldn't see this either. He might have a fit, argue that he looked somewhat childish, not to mention that taking photos of someone while they slept was not what an upstanding citizen did. England decided that the photo would remain a secret between him and his phone.

Returning his phone to his pocket, but not before taking one more photo, one closer to America's face, England grabbed the remote. He cared not of the time, well aware by the noise outside that the new year had arrived, and so he turned off the television without bothering to watch the celebrations.

Flicking the lights of the home off, England took up residence next to America, unperturbed by the thought of sleeping while sitting upright. As he stretched and made himself as comfortable as possible, he could not resist leaning over and stealing America's first kiss of the new year.


End file.
